Our Dreams Have Magic Because We'll Always Stay In Love This Way
by LeighKelly
Summary: To celebrate their first anniversary, Brittany and Santana find a new way to promise their eternal love to each other. Written for the Brittana's First Year anniversary project.


When the door to her and Santana's Brooklyn apartment slams shut, Brittany is sitting at the counter, computer in front of her. She glances at the clock in the bottom right corner, and wrinkles her nose, realizing she's completely lost track of time. She'd gotten so caught up in looking over the budget she so carefully manages for her and Santana, that she never finished the assignment she'd been working on to begin with. With a sigh, she closes the screen and sets it down on the counter.

"If I make it through one more shift in that shit hole without killing someone, I better get a raise." Brittany watches Santana walk into the living room, throw her bag on the coffee table and drop onto the couch, raking a hand through her hair and scowling as Lord Tubbington glares at her from the loveseat. "Ew, I've got scrambled eggs in my hair."

Hopping off her stool and picking up her beer, Brittany crosses the room, and sinks into the couch beside her wife. Santana doesn't hesitate to lean into her side, taking the deep breaths she's been working on to quell her frustrations. It's only a few weeks in, and the semester has been grueling, with Santana switching to dinner shifts at the Court Street Diner to accommodate her morning classes, and Brittany picking up weekday happy hour shifts at the bar to help pay for the summer classes they plan on taking to finish school sooner.

"Remember when we were getting paid to dance and sing, and have sex in hotel rooms all over the country?" Santana laments, finding Brittany's hand and entwining their fingers. "Remember when we went to Europe and Hawaii and didn't worry about a _dime,_ because my father still felt guilty about leaving my mother?"

"I do." Brittany takes to massaging the inside of Santana's wrist with her thumb.

"I'm still waiting on the _I was too busy to show up at your wedding_ guilt money. You have a year to send a gift, right?"

"Speaking of _that._ " She makes the effort to steer the conversation away from her estranged father-in-law, knowing that Santana can start out flippant about it, and then end up _really_ upset. "I came home from work, and the bar was crazy, so I was too amped up afterwards to work on my paper."

"So you did number stuff." Santana chuckles a little, knowingly, then, realizing she hasn't kissed Brittany since she left for class in the morning, leans over to kiss the corner of her mouth.

"I was balancing our checkbook, and I realized that I overestimated our budget...no, no wait, underestimated...no, sorry, I don't know which one is right. It's the one where we spent _less_ then we could have this year."

"And it's..."

"Still in our checking account. Three-hundred-twenty-seven dollars." Santana's eyes bug out at the number, more than week's worth of her tips at the diner. "I know, it's crazy, I can't even believe I did that."

"I probably shouldn't have been playing footsie with you while you were working on it." The tip of Santana's tongue presses through her teeth, and Brittany waggles her eyebrows. "So then there's more money for our saving's account."

"Or...since it's sort of like super _bonus_ money, and our anniversary is in four days, I thought maybe you might want to spend it on that."

"Really?" Santana arches her brow, surprised that Brittany, who is usually more cautious with money, is suggesting this. "You want to do that?"

"I dunno, it kind of seems like fate or something, figuring it out _now."_

"So then no Chinese takeout picnic on the floor?"

"It always reminds me of Ms. Holliday, when you want to do that." Brittany blinks rapidly at the memory. "We should totally look her up, see how she's doing, tell her we got wifed up— _anyway,_ I like our Chinese takeout picnics on the floor, but if you want to go out for a nice dinner, I'm okay with that too."

" _But?"_ Santana hears it in her pause, and Brittany grins, shaking her head.

"But, I had another idea, that would still include Chinese takeout, but is also something I've been thinking about for a _while."_

"Go on."

"Okay, so like, remember when we were on Lesbos, and we went into that tattoo parlor, and we were a little bit drunk?"

"We were a _lot_ drunk." Santana recalls the true version of events. "And we wanted to get matching tattoos, but you wanted to get sparkly dolphins, and I wanted to get breadsticks."

"Wow, we _were_ really drunk that night. It's a really good thing they didn't let us get those tattoos."

"Yeah, it really, really is. But you still want to do that?"

"I dunno, I mean, I really like the idea of it, and then I accidentally ended up on Pinterest the other day, which is _never_ a good thing."

"Yes, the fact that all of our underwear are tie-dyed is a testament to that." Santana reaches over to the coffee table and takes a swig of Brittany's beer.

"Truth. But I found the best idea. _Pinky promise_ tattoos."

"Hmm." She nods, encouraging Brittany to go on.

"Sometimes, Santana, I still think about that first time I hooked my pinky with yours, and for a second, you looked at me like I was _nuts,_ but then you squeezed mine back, and...I don't know, it was just, like, a moment."

"I remember it too. And I wasn't looking at you like that because I thought you were nuts, I was looking at you like that because my whole system jolted when you touched me, and you absolutely fucking _terrified_ me."

"I _am_ totally terrifying." Brittany rolls her eyes, teasing Santana.

"Shut up. I thought I was straight, remember? Who gets tingles in their lady parts when their friends touch them?"

"Okay, fair point. I mean, we don't have to do it, if that's a really bad memory for you."

"I'm not a _bad_ memory, it's just a weird one. Good weird. Like, obviously, once you did that it was a way for me to touch you without being super gay."

"You _were_ kind of super gay though."

"Clearly." She wiggles her left ring finger, laughing. "I'm pretty sure there's no way to platonically spin marrying another lady."

"Um, duh, just gals being pals, getting everyone they love together and celebrating their eternal gal paliness, or...palitude?" Brittany's pinky creeps toward Santana, and she hooks them together. "So what do you think?"

"I think—" Santana squeezes, much like that very first time, before catching Brittany's lips in a soft kiss. "That I really like that idea."

"Yeah?"

"Totally yeah. Chinese takeout, tattoos, and maybe enough money to buy a decent bottle of wine?"

"Actually, my mom said she'd send us a bottle of our wedding champagne. Speaking of, she asked if I wanted her to send one to Kurt and Blaine. I might have said no..."

"As you _should have._ Bitches got a free wedding, and then didn't even pick up the check when the offered to _take us to dinner_ to thank us _."_ Santana huffs. "I think they can buy their own champagne."

"Are you mad we did that?"

"What? Let them get married at our wedding? No." She shakes her head, looking Brittany in the eye. "Not at all. I mean, would it have been my first choice? No. But my _abuela_ was there, I would have given Sue a _kidney_ if she wanted one that day. So we stroked their egos a little bit, shared the day, it doesn't change that I got to marry _you._ Plus, we had that second beautiful ceremony in Ohio over the summer, to celebrate gay marriage becoming legal there. I don't regret anything, I'm just saying we've been more than charitable, so you're fine."

"Oh, I know I'm _fine."_ Brittany winks. "I didn't think they'd actually still be married now, so, weird,"

"I figured that, when you said we should all spend our anniversary together."

"Puh-lease." Brittany makes a face of disgust, "I do not need the smell of Blaine's hair gel when I'm trying to give you sweet lady kisses."

"Ugh, gross." She gags, then finishes the last of the beer from Brittany's bottle to chase a way the thought. "Do not ever talk about that again."

"Sorry. Subject change. Would you like to take a naked shower with me?"

"As opposed to..."

"I just wanted to make sure I got the word _naked_ in there." Brittany winks.

"Then a _naked shower_ it is, weirdo."

The remainder of the week passes in its typically hectic fashion. Someday, it won't matter that their wedding anniversary falls at the beginning of the semester, someday they'll be settled into the _rest_ of their lives, since they found their one true love so early on, and someday, they'll be able to take romantic getaways far away from the bitter February chill. But for now, this is enough. For now, Santana waking up to the smell of banana pancakes and strong coffee, with a wife who stands at the drive in nothing but new lace panties is _more than enough._

"Hey you." Santana presses into Brittany's back, wrapping her arms around her waist and letting her hands wander up to cup bare breasts.

"Suddenly you wake up early?" Brittany laughs, shaking her head. "I was making you breakfast in bed."

"Hmm, is it some kind of special occasion?"

"Jerk. Why'd I marry you exactly one year ago?"

"Not _exactly_ one year ago, math genius." Santana teases, a moan slipping from Brittany's lips as Santana simultaneously sucks her pulse point and thumbs her nipples. "Exactly one year ago, you were in a frantic search for your veil."

"I still stand by my belief that Lord Tubbington—" Her breath hitches, as Santana moves her left hand down, ghosting over black lace. "Hid it and then returned it while I wasn't looking."

"Mmhm." She nips Brittany's earlobe, and lets her fingers dip below the waistband of her panties.

"Gonna burn the pancakes." Brittany breathes out, but when Santana goes to retract the hand that slips easily through her increasing wetness, she grips her wrist to keep her from doing so.

"Let's see how good you are at multitasking then." Santana husks, circling Brittany's clit, and urging her to widen her stance. "Think you can keep cooking while I make you come, wifey?"

It's more of a squeak than an actual answer, and Santana smirks to herself, watching Brittany's shaky hand take hold of the spatula to flip the pancakes in the frying pan. Santana's silk robe falls open, and she feels Brittany's shudder as the draft in their apartment peaks her nipples, and they rub a particularly sensitive area on her upper back, the area Santana is wont to tickle or kiss. Beneath her lips, Santana knows a mark is blooming on Brittany's pale neck, and it spurs her to seek Brittany's entrance, dipping a single finger inside. She wants Brittany to remember how good she felt every time she looks in the mirror, she wants Brittany to clench around nothing, when she remembers how good her wife fucked her while she made their anniversary breakfast.

"Make sure they don't burn, Britt." Her scolding tone is playful, but it oozes _sex._ "Better get them out and pour the next batch in."

"Fuck." Brittany hisses, while Santana curls her pointer, then adds her middle finger on the next inward thrust.

"No, _I'm_ doing that, you're making breakfast."

Santana's intense show of dominance makes Brittany's neck flush, and beyond her own accord, she spreads her legs further and palms her neglected breast, attempting to pour batter into a hot pan. Her eyes flutter closed for just an instant, and she drops her head back onto Santana's shoulder, her sex tingling each time Santana hits _that_ spot.

"You're so fucking sexy." Santana hums in her ear, thumb pressing against a throbbing bundle of nerves. Brittany moans in response, and turns her head so Santana can kiss her mouth. "Standing at the stove in lace, like it wouldn't drive me wild."

"Maybe I— _ugh_ —maybe I meant to drive you wild. Maybe my a— _fuck_ —anniversary breakfast in bed is supposed to be _you."_

"Oh, is it?" Santana can feel the way Brittany is beginning to turn the tables, so she picks up her pace, adding a third finger, and stretching her further.

"Maybe you were supposed to—to stay asleep until this was ready so I could— _fuck me."_ Brittany tries to stave off her orgasm, but Santana is relentless. "So you could wake up on our anniversary with my— _ugh—_ tongue inside of you."

"Is that what you want?" Santana feels Brittany's orgasm rip through her, _Santana,_ on her lips, but she doesn't stop moving her fingers inside. "You want me to go back in the bedroom and pretend to be asleep, so I can _wake up_ to you eating me out? That's all I have to do to make _you_ breakfast in bed this morning? Just spread my legs for you."

"You are— _ugh."_ Brittany tries to catch her breath, but Santana's words, and her continuous thrusts make it impossible. She loses her train of thought as she feels a second orgasm build too quickly, and Santana nips her bare shoulder. "Rare form today."

"Just really hot for my wife."

"Yeah?" Brittany reaches for the knob of the stove and turns the heat off, shoving the pan to the back. She turns in Santana's arms, with fingers still working inside of her, and kisses her full on the mouth, tongue stroking against Santana's. "Forget you pretending to sleep. Bed. Now."

"But my breakfast." Santana teases, retracting her hand from Brittany's sex, and brining it to her lips, making a show of slipping wet fingers into her mouth. Brittany just narrows her eyes, and lifts Santana up, squealing as her legs wrap around Brittany's waist.

"Maybe later, when I'm done with you."

To the surprise of neither Brittany, nor Santana, breakfast is forgotten for the next hour while they revel in each other. By the time they're showered and dressed, they end up eating cold pancakes out of a ziplock bag on the way to class. But neither is complaining. As sweet as Brittany was to get up and make breakfast for Santana, _some things_ are just more important. Outside of Santana's first class, she plays with the strings of Brittany's hat, prolonging their time together before they're separated for the day. Brittany has her arms around Santana's waist, and she presses their foreheads together, just smiling so fondly at her wife, smiling with such joy that this is her life.

"We really have to go to to class today?" Santana sighs, looking at the big clock that tells her they really need to separate or they'll both be late. "Saturday classes were the worst idea."

"Don't make me be the responsible one." Brittany whines a little. "We _have_ to. We have midterms in two weeks."

"Ugh. I just want to stand right here all day."

"I mean...I love you, Santana, but it's kind of freezing out here, and I know that you'll start complaining about that in five minutes."

"Not if you share your body heat with me."

"It's only a few hours. Then we'll have _all_ night together."

"Lame. But, ugh, fine. I'll go to class."

"I love you a lot." Brittany kisses her nose, then her lips. "Happy anniversary, Mrs. Lopez-Pierce."

"Thanks for marrying me, other Mrs. Lopez-Pierce."

"Thank _you_ for asking me. Best idea ever."

With another kiss—or six—Santana goes inside her building, and Brittany crosses the street for her own. The day drags by, broken up only by disgustingly sappy text messages, and _#anniversarythrowback_ Instagram posts, where the two of them have dragged up some of the oldest photos of their relationship, including one that Brittany found during their very first week on the Cheerios, when Brittany has her ankle on Santana's shoulder, stretching. Later in the day, Brittany posts a picture of her left hand, drumming on the desk, _#missmywifey,_ and Santana digs up a picture of their wedding cake, letting Brittany know she's saved a piece for good luck. It's a good way to pass the eternal time, and just before Santana gets out of class and goes to meet Brittany, she posts one last shot, one her mother had taken at the end of their wedding, the two of them sitting in the floor of the barn, legs entwined, and Brittany sleeping on Santana's shoulder. _Happy 1st anniversary to my beautiful wife. The love of my life, my very best friend, the other half of me. I love you, Britt, until infinity. #thisiswhatreallovelookslike #luckiestwomanalive #halfofmyownotp._

"You're such a dork, and I love you." Brittany wraps her arms around Santana, kissing her hard on the mouth. "I'm glad we replaced Rizzles as your OTP though."

"Um, duh, we're totally canon..."

"I can't." Brittany laughs, spinning Santana in the snow that's begun to fall. "Does it even count as canon when it's real life?"

"It does 'cuz I say it does. Besides, when I'm famous someday, you _know_ the whole world's gonna ship us."

"And you're totally gonna read the porn they write, and then edit it out loud for me."

"You know me _so_ well." Santana kisses Brittany's chin, then grabs her hand to put both in her coat pocket. "Ready to do this?"

"Let's go, wifey." She grins. then stops to look at Santana again. "Hey, wait, about that old cake thing you posted on Insta before…"

"You're not the only one who researched wedding superstitions, Mrs. Lopez-Pierce. You didn't wonder why we never ate the top tier last year?"

"I was kind of distracted, you know, with licking frosting off your face and stuff…"

"Well, I saved it, and it'll probably be disgusting."

"But you did it for me." Brittany melts at the thought, remembering Santana's words last year, _we make our own luck,_ so the fact that she still indulges Brittany's whims, it's pretty special. "I love you, a _lot."_

They walk in silence to the tattoo parlor Brittany called. Santana's head rests on Brittany's shoulder, and Brittany looks forward and smiles, still in disbelief, even a year later, that this is real. When they get inside, the warmth hits them quickly, and when Brittany unwinds her scarf, Santana smirks, pressing her fingers to the bruise on her neck.

"Proud of yourself?"

"Extremely." Santana quickly kisses the spot. "And you love it.

"I mean, duh." She crooks her left pinky. "I'm perfectly fine with my body being marked by my love for you."

"Santana? Brittany?" A blonde in a dress, rocking a full sleeve of tattoos, appears from the back. When they nod, she waves them over. "Come on back."

"I need to go first." Santana insists, whispering in Brittany's ear, and looking around at the set up. "You know if you do, I'll hear the sounds and see the needle, and totally freak."

"You absolutely will." Brittany laughs. "That's fine, I'll hold your hand."

"You better!"

"I'll never let go, Jack, I'll never let go."

"Says the only person I know who _hates Titanic."_

"It's terrible. And unlike Rose, I actually _won't_ ever let go. Promise." Brittany squeezes Santana's hand, making her swoon.

"Alright, you two, less flirting, more discussing with _me._ I'm Chiara, and if you weren't so cute, I'd probably vomit." Chiara pulls her hair up into a ponytail and squats on a stool, while Santana makes herself comfortable in the chair. "So pinky promise tattoos?"

"Yeah...it's our anniversary, and that was kind of our thing when I was still hanging out in the closet in the shitty town we came from."

" _Wedding_ anniversary?" She eyes the diamond that glitters on Brittany's ring finger. "I thought you were like nineteen."

"Twenty-three." Santana rolls her eyes, _very_ sensitive to people pointing out how young they are. "Is there a problem with that? 'Cuz Brittz and I can take our—"

"Hey, fiesty, relax." Chiara holds her hand up. "I was just saying you look good. I don't care what you do. It's totally rad that your found your partner so young."

"You're cute when you do your Lima Heights thing." Brittany leans in and whispers, effectively calming the lion inside Santana, then turns her attent. "So you got my email? You can do that?"

"Yeah, no problem. You'll be out of here in a half hour. Your left, her right?"

"Yup, the non-dominant hand thing is _totally_ important. You know, for reasons."

"Britt." Santana laughs, swatting her arm.

"Act like you weren't the one who thought of that." Brittany rolls her eyes, grinning. "Not the only genius around here."

"You're really incapable of _not_ flirting, huh?" Chiara stands up, getting her things prepared. "I guess I don't blame you, you're both smokin' hot."

"Obviously." Santana flips her hair, and rests her elbow on the table beside where she's sitting. "So what's the deal?"

"The _deal_ is, if you're going first, you've gotta sign these papers, wash your hands, and pay me."

"That's it?"

"Uh, yeah, that's pretty much it." She hands over forms for both of them to sign, and Santana fidgets a little in her seat. "What?"

"Nothing, it's just…so how big is this needle going to be, and do I have to _see_ it?"

"You've got eyelids, don't you?"

"She'll close them for three seconds, and then she'll look. Every time."

"Babe! Stop telling my secrets."

" _Baby,_ it's not a secret if she's going to see it happen in five minutes."

"Ugh, whatever. You really better not let go of my hand."

"Have I _ever?"_ Brittany raises an eyebrow, circling her thumb on the inside of Santana's wrist. "I'll even let you hide your face in my shoulder."

"Okay, fine."

Once everything is set up, and Brittany and Santana both nod their approval on the design, the word "promise," with a tiny red heart following it, Santana takes a deep breath. This isn't Brittany's first tattoo. While she was at MIT, she'd gotten a rainbow feather on her hip, a reminder of her old life, her world where math didn't exist. Santana was entranced by it, the first time she'd undone Brittany's jeans, and frankly, two and a half years later, she's _still_ entranced by it. The point is though, Brittany is perfectly aware of what's going to happen, and before Chiara even turns the needle gun on, she has Santana's left hand between her knees, and she murmurs into her ear to distract her—dirty things, maybe, but they seem to be working.

It's probably the cutest thing Brittany has ever seen, the way Santana thinks she's tough about ninety-nine-point-nine percent of the time, but then gets distressed over the tiniest things. She loves this woman, she loves her so much that it's kind of ridiculous, and with a head of dark hair tucked beneath her chin, she peers over at Santana's little finger, getting chills over the word forming there.

"She didn't misspell it, right?" Santana mumbles into Brittany's sweater.

"P-R-O-M-I-S-S, right?" Chiara looks at Brittany, and gives her a dramatic eye roll.

"More like P-R-O-M-R-S."

"Ha. Ha. Ha. You guys are _really_ funny."

"And you are with with me fo' life."

"You should have made that bad pun _before_ I had half a word on my pinky."

"You actually have a whole word on your pinky." Chiara puts down the gun and wipes away the residual ink. "I can add a _don't,_ if you're threatening divorce."

"Hey, don't you touch that needle machine." Santana pops her head up, and looks wiggles her pinky. "Oh my God, Britt, look!"

"It's perfect." Brittany kisses Santana's lips, then almost knocks Santana out of the chair in excitement. "My turn!"

"You're like…scarily chill about needles." Santana's eyes widen, and Brittany just laughs.

"Whatever, tattoos are cool. I'd totally get a sleeve, or, like, my whole back."

"You would?"

"Totally." Brittany wiggles her pinky, as Chiara wipes it down. "If there was something I really wanted. I'd look super hot like that."

"I mean…obviously." Santana's fingers dance down Brittany's muscular back. "I'm not sure I could sit and watch you do this for like, twenty-four hours though."

"Hmmm, maybe by the time we're rich and famous enough for me to do it, you won't be so freaked out."

"I'm gonna go with probably not." She shakes her head, and Brittany kisses her again, unaffected by the whirring of the gun. "You're not even flinching."

"I'm completely numbed by the excitement of us doing this. And of being married to you. And of knowing that as long as we don't die from eating year old cake, I'm gonna—" She stops, then lowers her voice to barely a whisper. "Give you more orgasms than I did on our wedding night."

"I don't even think that's possible." Santana shivers at the thought.

"I've told you before, Mrs. Lopez-Pierce, with us, I believe that anything is possible."


End file.
